My boyfriend Lane and I have an open relationship: bedroom activity with other guys is fine, as long as we are both present, "sharing" or at least watching. In emergencies, like when I'm back in Rock Island for two weeks, a close friend can substitute.
So on Christmas Day, I call Lane and tell him how my friend Dick and I went to JR's last night and hooked up with the Ginger Boy. And he tells me about how he went to a bear contest at the Faultline, and got the phone number of the winner, Randall.
"You should have seen him! A classic muscle daddy, in his 50s but not grey, a military haircut, a short-cropped beard, thick arms, nice muscular hairy chest! I groped him -- feels like a gigantic Kielbasa down there!"
"Sounds hot," I say. Not really my type though. I just turned 30, so I'm not into the over-40 crowd. I figure if they date, I'll just be the "watcher."
"And really into S&M: mummification, water sports, you name it."
I like some minor bondage, but Lane isn't into it at all. What does he see in this guy? "So, when is the big date? You can bring Max along to share, if I'm still in the Midwest."
"No, we'll wait until you get back. How about if we have with him on the 5th?"
West Hollywood, January 5th, 6:00 pm
I expect Lane to drive me to a West Hollywood address -- San Vicente, Crescent Heights, Fairfax, La Brea. But instead we get on the 410 and drive south for 45 minutes, to Long Beach!
The other side of the world? What does this guy have that the 20,000 gay men in West Hollywood don't?
The rest of the story is too explicit for Boomer Beefcake and Bonding. It includes a dungeon, a freezing swimming pool, and a Prince Albert. You can read it on Tales of West Hollywood.